


A Sweet Lovely Moment

by GoldsJRZGirl



Series: Unexpected series [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark One Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2372033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldsJRZGirl/pseuds/GoldsJRZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle makes a deal with Rumple to have him give her cooking lessons in the Dark Castle, but some unexpected things go wrong as the lesson commences. Set during "This Doesn't Have to Be Love", companion piece in the Unexpected series. Rumbelle AU! Fluff and sweet sexy moments!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweet Lovely Moment

**Author's Note:**

> written as a brthday present for my friend and co-author CJ Moliere! This takes place in the Dark Castle before Rumple and Belle were cursed in This Doesn't Have To Be Love . . .where Rumple attempts to give cooking lessons to Belle after the stove flies away, before Zelena comes to the castle, but things do NOT go quite as planned . . .

Rumplestiltskin, also known as the Dark One, did not usually make deals with his chatelaine, Belle Bordreaux, after the initial one which saved her village from the ogres and brought her here to the Dark Castle. But after the infamous "flying stove" incident, Belle decided it would be a good thing for her to learn how to prepare some meals, in case Rumple was gone for awhile making deals with the desperate. "After all, you don't want me and Bae to starve, now do you?" she persuaded.

"No, but Belle, you know I can make suppers ahead of time and use a Preserving Charm to keep them from spoiling in the pantry," her employer reminded. "So you don't ever have to worry about it."

"Rumple . . .I don't like that you're always cooking all the time. I know you don't mind . . .and I'm terrible at it . . but it's only because I haven't had practice . . .and once in awhile it'd be nice if I could cook something for _you_ ," she said, her blue eyes alight with a combination of excitement and eagerness.

"All right then, dearie. Tomorrow we'll have some cooking lessons," the master of the castle said. "We'll start with breakfast."

The next morning, Belle was up bright and early, finishing up the sweeping and dusting in the castle's main room and tidying the family room downstairs before entering the kitchen to begin her lessons. She was wearing her customary work outfit Rumple had made for her, the lovely cornflower blue dress over the white puffed sleeve shift, which he had used magic to strengthen the cloth, making it more durable and less susceptible to holes and dirt, and another charm to keep dust off the garment, so Belle wasn't always having to launder it.

It often amazed her how perceptive and thoughtful her beastly master was . . .most nobles would never have cared about making their servants sturdy clothing or caring how long it lasted before having to have a new set made up. Most servants were given a new set of clothes twice a year and that was all, and anything else had to be purchased by them, or made by them. But Rumple had made her four dresses for work, the blue one was her favorite though, all spelled and of sturdy cloth, functional and yet pretty, not some shapeless sack. He'd also made her several linen shifts to wear beneath the dresses, and two lightweight nightgowns with ribbon on the sleeves and bodice, plus two flannel ones for winter. He'd even . . .and this made her blush . . .made her some simple cotton underdrawers, and everything was stitched neatly by hand and bore a stylized R in gold thread somewhere on the garment to indicate who had made it, usually in a place only she could see it.

When she had expressed her gratitude for such largesse, he had waved off her thanks, coloring slightly, saying, "Well, I can't let you go round in rags now, can I? Don't want to Bae to be shocked out of his skin. Besides, how would it seem if my chatelaine looked like something that crawled out of a scrap heap, and me a former weaver and spinner? I'm up all night as it is, dearie, spinning, so it's hardly any big effort for me to sew a few garments here and there. Gives me something to do, since I don't need much sleep."

He also, though he'd never admit it, enjoyed making clothes, and especially _her_ clothes, imagining the way the fabric hugged her petite frame and caressed her delicate skin . . .and sometimes even imagined himself touching her . . . until he recalled he was a cursed monster who women fled from, and who would ever want to be pawed by a beast?

That morning, Belle put her long auburn locks up into a neat bun, to avoid getting her hair in whatever they were cooking that day, and washed her hands in the wash basin. Then she took a work apron from one of the hooks and tied it around herself.

Tobias and Wesley, the enchanted salt and pepper shakers, hopped over to her on the counter. "Oooh, what are you doing, Mistress Belle?" they asked in their high childlike voices, since they had been little boys before being cursed by Zoso.

"I'm going to have some cooking lessons with Master Rumple," she informed them.

"Ooohh, how sweet!" giggled Wes. "Master likes to cook."

"Yeah, and the Master knows _how_ to cook," put in Tobias. "Not like our first master, Zoso. _He_ couldn't boil water without burning it."

"That's cause Zoso didn't care, cause whenever he was boiling water it was to shove somebody _in_ it!" snorted Wes.

Belle felt her stomach heave. "That's . . .disgusting!"

"That's Zoso. He didn't use the kitchen for anything 'cept asking the pantry to conjure up bread and cheese and wine," Tobias informed her.

"Cause the Dark One don't _need_ to eat like us regular folk," Wesley said. "His body'll never die . . .less someone kills him with his dagger."

"Yeah and Zoso was an idiot!" Tobias sneered. "He kept the castle looking like somebody abandoned it . . .dust an' dirt all over and the kitchen was filthy . . .with bird poop and rats nests and . .."

"Ugh! How awful!"

"And then he kept his bloody knives n' stuff hung up on the wall . . ." Wesley added with relish, like small boys do when telling each other scary stories.

Belle feared she was going to vomit just imagining it.

"Remember the time when Zoso was gonna skin that reeve alive-?" began Tobias, with a wicked little grin.

Belle put a hand over her mouth.

"Hey! Don't you be repeating any of that, you little rascals!" scolded Rumple, coming into the kitchen dressed in his customary leather pants and a deep indigo tunic with gathered sleeves, his dragonhide vest over it.

"Master, we was just telling Belle about the time when—" began Wes.

He shook a finger at the salt shaker. "Never ye mind, laddie! That stuff's no fit for a lass's ears . . .or yours either! Look, you're making poor Belle sick, now enough! Or do you want five minutes looking at the wall?"

"No, Master!" yelped the shakers. "We're sorry, Belle!"

"Yeah, we was just telling you how Zoso was this dumb butt," Tobias began.

"You're not gonna hurl, are ya?" asked the salt shaker. "I did that once . . .cause I ate too many blueberry tarts."

"Yeah and you didn't listen to me!" Tobias added. "And then guess who got stuck cleanin' the floor?"

"No . . .no . . .I'm fine . . ." Belle said, trying to focus on something other than the bloody images their words had conjured in her fertile brain. She took a few deep breaths and drank some cool water in a wooden cup.

"All right, dearie?" Rumple asked, his amber eyes bright with concern. "They didn't mean to make you ill . . .they're naught but silly little boys who like scaring the pants off each other . . ." He shook his head at them.

"I'm fine, Rumple," Belle assured him, not wanting to seem missish or overly sensitive. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes," he said, taking a green apron down from its hook and putting it on. "I think we ought to try something simple today—scrambled eggs, bacon, and crispy potatoes."

Belle looked rather alarmed. "That's _simple_?"

"Aye, 'tis. I'll show you. Fetch me the eggs, milk, bacon, and potatoes from the cold room," he directed. "I'll heat up the skillets." He pulled two large skillets from the wall hooks. "Oh, and the butter too. I'll need it to grease the pan."

He showed her first how to grease the pans with butter, then to make sure the stove had plenty of coal and how to regulate the flames by using the small levers to open and shut the burners.

"Now, first we chop up the potatoes," he showed her how to peel the potatoes and slice them thinly, doing one before having her do the other.

"No," he said, gently grabbing her hand. "Cut away from you. Otherwise you could slip and give yourself a nasty gash."

Belle did so, trying to cut the potato evenly in slices, but it was hard, and she feared her slices were too thick.

But Rumple said nothing, just let her continue slicing.

"All right, now we put them in the heated pan with the butter," he showed her how to melt the butter and spread it around before adding the potatoes. "You'll have to remember to turn these every so often and add more butter if they stick."

"Don't we need to season them?"

"Yes. C'mere, lads." He beckoned to the shakers who hopped eagerly into his hands. "Now, you just . . .shake some salt and pepper into it . . .like so, and turn it, do it again, then leave it to brown . . .you can add an onion if you like, but today we'll just skip that." He left the spatula on the counter and turned to the eggs next.

"Crack these into a bowl here," he instructed and then got a whisk from the holder of utensils.

Belle cracked six eggs into the bowl. "Now what?"

"Now you add some milk, not too much, but some, and you scramble them." He handed her the whisk. "Meantime, I'll start the bacon." He turned to slice the bacon off the slab with Ormand the meat cleaver, leaning over the counter and giving Belle an unexpected view of his backside in his form fitting leather pants.

Belle was scrambling the eggs like a fiend when she caught sight of him . . . and became so distracted watching him that she stopped beating the eggs and stared . . .unable to help herself.

 _My . . .doesn't he look fine!_ Her traitorous heart whispered, as she watched him leaning over, unconsciously making the dragonhide go taut over his trim behind.

She almost reached out and pinched it . . . like Marie had done as he was leaving her papa's castle . . . _Good gods, Belle! What are you doing? Thinking . . . no almost DOING . .. that! He's your master, you're his servant . . . and you don't want to give him the wrong impression! Not after you told him you're . . .not . . .looking for love . .. and neither is he!_

She jerked her hand back and grabbed the whisk again . . .and the eggs slopped out of the pan and onto the floor.

"Oh . . .dammit!" she swore and went to get a rag to mop it up, when Rumple turned to put the bacon in the pan.

His boot slipped on the eggs and he stumbled backwards . . . banging right into Belle . . .who had both a wet rag and the bowl of eggs in her hands.

"Look out!" screamed Ormand.

"Rumple!" she yelped, trying to move out of the way.

"What the _hell_?" he cried, struggling to remain upright.

He hit the bowl of eggs with his elbow . .. and it flew up into the air . . and cascaded all over him and Belle in a golden sticky shower.

And the bowl hit the Dark One in the head.

"Oww! Belle, what the-?" he exclaimed, trying to wipe the sticky egg off his face.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, sure he was going to explode in a temper. She grabbed him around the waist to try and help keep him upright . . . and by mistake her hand squeezed his bottom.

"Belle! What . . . are you . . . _groping_ me!" he yelped. A part of him was shocked . . . and another part was quite enjoying the feel of her hand on him. _Get your mind of out of the cesspit, Rumplestiltskin!_

"No!" she gasped, and made herself let go, her face bright red beneath her coating of eggs. Had she really done that?

Rumple fell backwards . .. on top of Belle and they both ended up on the floor.

"Oof!" Belle grunted as Rumple landed on her.

"Gods and hells!" he gasped, turning and trying to get up, but his boot was coated with egg and kept slipping . . .and he landed on her again . . . with his face almost in her bosom.

"Rumplestiltskin!"

He flushed, turning his gold skin copper. "My gods! I'm sorry . . .!" he mumbled, though if he were honest he wasn't all _that_ sorry.

He went to get up, and by mistake his hand cupped her breast as he went to put it down . . . and it lingered, sending shockwaves through him.

"Hey!" Her cerulean eyes widened in shock . . . and guilty pleasure.

"Umm . .. .umm . . ." he thought he must be the color of the coals in the stove by now. He quickly removed his hand and put it on the stone floor. "That was _not_ where I was intending to put that!" he muttered, thinking _hell, Rumple, now she thinks you're some kind of master who likes to play slap n' tickle with the servant girls! And if you keep this up . . . you'll break your deal!_ "My boot keeps slipping on the floor."

"It's the egg . .. it's all over . . ." Belle groaned. "I'm sorry, Rumple . . .I got distracted and then I spilled some on the floor . . ." _You got distracted all right! Looking at his ass!_

On the counter, the shakers and the meat cleaver started laughing.

"Oops! Looks like they took a tumble!" Tobias howled.

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" Wesley giggled.

"Hush, you imps!" scolded Adelaide the pantry. "Master, are you okay?"

"Fine, dearie," Rumple coughed.

"Oh! You've got egg . . . all in your hair . . .!" Belle realized.

"So do you."

She went red like a rose. "I . . . must look a sight!"

"You and me both, dearie," he snickered. "Like we've been the victims of a chicken uprising!"

Egg coated both of their faces, their hair, and their clothes.

Suddenly Belle began laughing.

"We . . . must look . . ridiculous . . ."

Rumple glanced down at himself. Then he started laughing too. He laughed so hard he got hiccups.

"Umm . . .hahah . . ." he giggled uncontrollably, holding his sides. Then suddenly a hiccup burst from him.

Belle almost died right there. "Oh . . .maybe you should . . . drink some water . . .!"

"I . . . _hiccup . . ._ will . . ." he laughed . . . " . . . _hiccup_ . . . when . .. I stop . . .. laughing . . . else I'll choke . . .!"

Tears streamed down Belle' s face, as she snorted and snickered, unable to help herself. _Oh my gods! I sound like a pig!_

She struggled to keep from laughing and couldn't. "Hold your breath!"

Rumple gasped . . . "I'm trying . . . _hiccup . . ._!" he groaned, for now the hiccups were beginning to hurt his diaphragm. "Dammit . .. you'd think I was drunk!"

"You are! Drunk . . . on laughter!" Belle chortled.

She almost peed herself when he finally managed to hold his breath, his cheeks all puffed out like a puffer fish.

"Oh, Rumple!"

He expelled his breath . . . and the hiccups were gone. "Humph!" he snorted, now embarrassed.

He waved a hand and all the sticky egg was banished and the floor clean. Then he got to his feet and helped Belle up.

She could barely look him in the eye. _Clumsy idiot! Now what must he think!_

He avoided her, turning to the stove . . . and then he noticed the bacon was burning and the potatoes were too. "Aww hells!" he swore.

"Oh no!" Belle moaned. "The breakfast . . . is ruined!"

"Well, not exactly," Rumple disagreed. He removed the burnt bacon and tossed it out, then put some new slices in the pan. He rearranged the potatoes and added more butter and seasoning, saying, "If they're a bit crisp . . .Bae will still eat them. And so will I. I still have all my teeth."

Belle started laughing at his quip. "Oh . . .oh . . ."

His eyes twinkled. "Shall we break some more eggs, dearie?"

"Just be careful we don't break our necks!" she snickered.

He summoned some more eggs from the pantry. "Okay . . . let's try this again."

This time the eggs got scrambled .. .and the bacon done to a nice crisp, before Rumple said . . . "Okay, now we put the eggs in the pan after the bacon's gone . .. drain the grease away, mostly . . ." He slid the eggs into the pan and went to hand Belle the fork to turn them when they had set.

And he found her lips inches from his own.

He forgot he was holding the fork in his hand . . . forgot everything except the fact that he was almost . . .kissing her. Moreover, that he _wanted_ to kiss her.

Belle stared into his smoky amber eyes, unable to look away. She was so close she could count the shimmering tiny scales in his skin. Her fingers came up automatically . . . and they grazed his cheek.

Soft . . .his skin was soft . . .not scaly or repulsive . . . and she longed to touch it . . .over and over . . .

He gasped as her hand glided over his cheek, like the delicate caress of a rose petal against his skin . .. or the flicker of summer sunlight. Then he felt something he hadn't felt in ages . . .the hot rush of desire. "Belle . . .I . . ."

His hand caught hers in his own.

"Rumple . . ." she whispered, almost incoherent from the feelings he aroused in her.

Then she leaned in, bolder than she had ever been in her life, and gave him a very quick, very hesitant peck on the cheek, noting how warm his skin was, how silky, and the smell of spiced aftershave that clung to him.

That brief touch set him ablaze, like an oil-dipped torch, and for a moment he forgot everything he knew and turned his head and their mouths met for the briefest of instants.

And something flared between them that wasn't there before.

A moment later he jerked back, guilt tinging his face crimson. "Umm . . ."

She looked . . .swept away . .. but maybe he was imagining things . . . his kisses were hardly anything to write home about . . .

Belle didn't know what to say, what to think, all she could do was remain with her mouth open slightly . . .shocked into stillness that he had actually _kissed_ her.

Then she frowned.

Rumple half-cringed waiting for her to blast him for his presumption.

"Err . . . I think . . . something's burning . . ."

"Ahh hells!" he cried , whirling around. "The eggs!"

They were a blackened mess in the pan.

And so were half the potatoes.

"Oh no! I'm such a disaster!" Belle cried, flushing. "I never should have tried to cook anything."

"It's not your fault, dearie," her teacher said. "I . . . wasn't paying attention." He snapped his fingers and the burnt food was vanished out to the midden, where he'd use it for compost in the garden.

Belle stood in the middle of the kitchen wondering how a simple cooking lesson had gotten so out of hand? She should have known better. Kitchens and she had never mixed. And yet . . . and yet . . . the tip of her tongue ran around her lower lip as she recalled how sweetly satisfying that brief moment had been . . . and she couldn't regret it.

Not much anyhow.

Rumple turned as Bae entered the kitchen, his hair all sticking up and still heavy-eyed from sleep. "Morning, Papa!" his nose wrinkled. "What's burning?"

"Nothing," Rumple assured him. "There was . . . err . . . a little accident with the stove . . ."

"So what are we having for breakfast?"

"Porridge!" Rumple said, and went to get the oatmeal.

"And bacon," Belle added at Bae's sigh.

She watched as Rumple measured the oatmeal in his palm and then tossed it into the water in the black cauldron . . .and flicked his wrist and made it boil and then simmer.

Then he stirred it and when it was done added chopped nuts, brown sugar, raisins, and cinnamon.

"There!" he declared, wondering why he still felt a lingering heat on his cheek where her lips had been.

Belle smiled as she helped dish up the porridge. This was her first and last cooking lesson, she decided. Because next time they might burn the castle to the ground. But it had been a sweet lovely moment while it lasted.


End file.
